


The Testament of Anne Boleyn

by EvilFluffyBiteyThing



Category: The Tudors (TV)
Genre: Gen, Historical, Historical Fantasy, Historical Figures, Tragedy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-21
Updated: 2020-06-21
Packaged: 2021-03-04 06:29:12
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,493
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24839206
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EvilFluffyBiteyThing/pseuds/EvilFluffyBiteyThing
Summary: Imagine that you're in the Tower - and that a Queen awaiting her end is granted the opportunity to have a final conversation with a passing stranger upon the last night of her life...
Comments: 35
Kudos: 34





	The Testament of Anne Boleyn

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Lady_Perseverance](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lady_Perseverance/gifts).



Do you like these rooms, friend? Are they not most sumptuous? How strange that I am here. Here again after those heady days when these rooms bore witness to my triumph.

For triumph it was – triumph against those who called me a whore, against that old goat in Rome and the minions he sent against us, against every man who would not stomach the thought of England’s crown upon my head. My time of joy, of magnificence – for I had won the heart of a King; and, with it, a throne.

Did I pity her? That poor woman who was swept away for me? Then? No, I think I did not. Not a woman who called me a whore to my face and claimed that Henry would discard me as he had my sister before me. It had taken him four years to tire of her, yes; but such was his adoration that he was willing to fight nearly twice as long for me.

Now...I do. How can I not? For all her spite, I know now the wellspring of it, for it rose in my breast just as it had risen in hers. Swept away as she had been in the tide of his determination to seek a son from another’s womb when mine, just as Katherine’s had done, failed to comply. She could fight as I could not – she had the Emperor to call upon for support; and, with him, all of Christendom. How could I have been such a fool as to think that I would not need such highly-placed friends?

It was not always so – nay, it was not. I did not seek a crown, or a king. I should have delighted to remain in France for all of my days in Royal service. Perhaps I might have won a marriage that was as much of worth to my family as it could have been of worth to my heart. A loving husband...a fine chateau in the vale of the Loire...now that would indeed have been an aspiration for me.

But I was an aristocrat, was I not? And aristocratic women are not granted such freedom. That I must marry was always at the core of my existence – for all of my kind must – and I knew that I should do as my parents desired. Thus, when I was recalled to England to marry, I swallowed my resentment and grief at the loss of the rose-gilded future of which I dreamed and complied.

I was to be the bargaining tool for an earldom that my father desired. Marriage into the exalted Howard line is not sufficient, you see; not when your only links to that hallowed family are through the female line. He wanted a peerage through inheritance – but even the Irish earldom of Ormond was beyond his reach without the compliance of the one who sought to claim it. _Give it up, and win me in exchange_.

That I had found another to love did not fit with those plans. My Henry – my _other_ Henry.

God’s wounds he was beautiful! Tall, lithe and fair with dark locks to match mine. I was not beautiful. I knew that even as I moved about the court, for I was not that coveted fair English rose. My skin was too swarthy for that, and my hair too dark when gold was the treasure that was preferred beneath one’s hood.

But my eyes...oh yes they would willingly drown themselves in those dark pools that led to my soul. I had learned how to charm; I had been released into a world of intellect and learning when I served Queen Claude of France, and I came back with an arsenal of wit and knowledge that overcame the attributes that I lacked. But he loved me; oh, how he loved me…

Nay, think ye not that we were so besotted as to besmirch our consciences, for we were not such fools as that. But as I captured his heart, he captured mine – and we promised ourselves to one another in the heat of that wonder. Words – just words...spoken as though we were children…

Oh, I know that Henry’s crusted old stump of a father had promised my first love to the daughter of Shrewsbury; but she no more loved Henry than he loved her. It was their thoughts of me that truly won my ire...for they thought me to be nothing. _Nothing_!

No scion of the House of Northumberland would lower himself to be wedded to the mere daughter of a Knight – whose connexions to royalty were so far back as to be meaningless. God, yes, _everyone_ of consequence could claim that they were royal at some time back in their ancestry. That the first Tudor saw my father’s value as a diplomat was not sufficient. He was a knight – and only a knight. I was too low-born for them.

As for Ormond – he was one of Wolsey’s pages. Thrice _damned_ Wolsey! It was he who intervened to end it at the behest of those wretched Northumberlands. God’s blood, I would not forgive him for it!

Thus we were parted. He married the Shrewsbury girl – and wanted naught to do with her, nor she with him. And I was left with no prospective marriage when Ormond chose not to wed me. Father never told me what had ended it. All I knew was that it was ended. But I knew that Wolsey had a hand in it. I am certain of it...even to this day...

Then the other Henry tired of his dalliance with my sister, and a suitably compliant courtier was found to marry a ‘used’ woman and remove her from Court. He strove for discretion with his dalliances; for, like many hypocrites who do not practise what they preach, he made no secret of his loathing of François’s open adultery. When he claimed that England’s King would not have a _Maitresse en Titre_ – what he meant was, not _officially_.

Why did he look upon me? Ah yes...I was an adept at that game of Courtly Love. Such a stupid business: offering much, but giving nothing. Flirtation and dalliance, but no more than that. I learned well how to promise without reward – for I played the game amongst virtuosi and could match them. Ormond may not have wanted me, but all the men at Court assuredly did. And I loved it.

At least, I did – until it captured the king, for he was as adept at the game as I from long, long practice. Jesu, I had no wish for him! He was ten years my senior, and no longer the great prince of Christendom. Oh, he was far from repulsive; but he had had carnal knowledge of my sister, to the detriment of her reputation – and now he desired me? I would not have it! Nay I would not!

I refused him. Over and over – and I could do so without danger, for he could not demand that I come to his bed without placing risk upon my immortal soul. But he would not have it. He sent me gifts. I sent them back. He sent greater gifts in return. His letters were frequent and fulsome in their sentiments – and I did not reply; or, if I did, I declined him. And so he wrote again, and again.

Even flight would not deter him – I withdrew to Hever, over and over again with my Father’s aid, for he was as dismayed by the King’s attentions as I. He had seen the damage done to his elder daughter’s reputation, and thus was willing to risk much for the virtue of the younger, though whether that was to guard me, or to guard his good name, I could not tell you now. I like to pretend to myself that it was the former. Perhaps it even was.

How was I to know that Henry would see my refusal as naught but a challenge to be overcome? If he could not have me as a mistress, then – to hell with it – he would have me as a wife. For then, _he would have me_. His men jested now and again – when he was not there to hear it – of his anger if the quarry escaped him in the midst of the hunt. Others would laugh and tell him that there were plenty more stags to chase, but he would be enraged, for he had been intent upon _that_ one.

He could not endure to lose, or to be told the word ‘no’. Thus my refusals were fuel to a fire that now would not be quelled. His wife of four-and-twenty years, who had worn out her body for his purposes and even ruled England in his stead, was no longer of use to a man whose first duty – whose _only_ duty other than the ruling of England – was to propagate the line of Tudor. They had claimed their throne through conquest, and had unseated a great dynasty to raise that bloodied crown atop their undeserving heads.

Did you not know? Aye – that old man Harri Tudur was no lawful king. Nay – he was of bastard stock upon both sides of his line. His claim was founded upon the tottering foundations of letters patent issued to award legitimacy when blood would not suffice – even Queen Katherine’s claim to England was stronger. Why do you think she was sought for the boy Arthur, and when the York Queen followed Arthur into the grave, he considered the girl for himself? Not that he ever did – Elizabeth’s shade was forever at his side, and he could not let her go.

Spite, you say? Perhaps – but do I not have reason to be spiteful? Gentility will not serve me any greater, not at this late hour. Who would hear me that would even care?

Poor Katherine – poor, old, dried up Katherine. How many babes did she conceive, only for them to be swilled from her womb in blood and water, or live long enough to be granted a title and the hopes of their nation before equally departing as quickly as they came. Sickness took one of the two scions of Tudor, and now that remainder finds himself equally cursed. How can God favour a royal line and not grant them sons?

And so Henry looked not to bed me, but instead to wed me – for a betrothal does not damage a woman’s soul as adultery might. In that instant, my power to refuse him was lost to me, and I knew that I, too, was lost. He would have me, and there was nothing that I could do to prevent it.

_Marry me, then!_ I said, my voice light and merry, for I did not think he could do it, _I will not be your mistress, but I will be your wife!_

Would it have made a difference, if I could take back those words? God, no. He had settled upon marriage as a means to discard a wife who could not grant him sons and would not do him the favour of dying to free him to find one who would. Henry would lightly and easily sign a life away with the stroke of a pen – but only if the victim could be shown to have betrayed him. However slightly. A loyal wife, however, was safe from such perfidy. Lawfully married and loved by the people, how could he possibly succeed? I, too, thought myself safe from an annulment, as she likely did.

We were both wrong.

When did I give in to him? Oh, I know your thoughts: you think of when we were in France, when I permitted him into my bed. Once one has given one’s heart, to give one’s body is a simple prospect. The heart is the first battle.

He fought against all. Tooth and nail. He gifted me jewels, silks, satins and furs, flattered me outrageously with poesies and rhymes, sometimes childish, sometimes sublime in their cleverness. I knew the flattery for what it was – but that determination: that desire...I thought it to be love. Truly, I did. And so I learned to love him in return. Truly, I did.

Ah...I paint myself so prettily, do I not? A gentle, simple girl who loved purely and willingly. If only it were so, for there were thorns upon those roses. Sharp, cruel thorns that grew longer as Henry’s love made my position ever more secure amongst the snide, gossiping courtiers who expected me to be naught but a moment’s passion, soon discarded. Their loathing began to change as my power grew – it was to me that they began to come with petitions for the King, not Katherine, and then I thought myself truly to be a rightful Queen of England, for what was that old creature in comparison to me?

Henry laboured hard for my hand – and I longed to grant it. I am shamed now to think of those days when I, too, began to labour for it, showing him that Kings should not be bound by the pronouncement of foreign potentates. He took that knowledge and used it not merely to further his aims for me – but also for himself. God, what a fool I was, now I think upon it. I showed the lion his strength, and none then could contain him. Not even I.

In time, my conceit grew ever greater as I saw myself at the forefront of all. I took to wearing the royal purple – a colour only for a Queen – and when I was challenged, I said I would see Katherine hanged before I would bow before her. And I meant it. I had eclipsed her in the Courtly firmament, and all that stood between me and the man I now desired was the woman who was already his wife.

Come now – are you surprised? Surprised that I am not the very article of perfection? If that were so, then I should not truly exist, for there is no man – or woman – who is truly perfect. That is God’s fortune, not men’s. I am shortly to die, and there will be no refuge in pretence when I step forth into the next life and stand before the highest of Thrones. Best to learn that humility _before_ I die, I think.

Henry never truly won the annulment he sought – so he rejected Papal authority and proclaimed himself head of England’s Church instead. Jesu, I was so astounded at the sheer audacity of his manoeuvre, and delighted that he would do such a thing out of his love for me. How could I have been so blind? He did it for himself. It was _always_ for himself. If I suspected it, then I pretended otherwise, and rejoiced that his heart was so full for me that he would have gone to such lengths to win our union.

He even sent one of his oldest friends – and mentors – to the block for me.

I did not hate More. Nay, he could be most abysmally bigoted over matters of religion, but nonetheless he was intelligent, courageous and did not fear Henry’s rages as others did. Wolsey’s demise brought me satisfaction over his destruction of my first love – but not More. He would not accept that we could be legitimately married, and that made him a traitor in the eyes of the laws that Henry made to secure me. I wish it could have turned out differently – but wishes are ten-a-penny. I wish I were not here – and still I am.

Katherine fought to the end – of course; but she could never win against an opponent who amended each defeat by shifting the battleground in his favour and declaring war anew. I had won that silent war of attrition – a war in which I had been obliged merely to sit and wait. Not that I was patient in the waiting; now that the crown was within my grasp I wanted it. Oh indeed, I wanted it. Who would not?

I swear to you it was not mere base greed. Upon what is left of my life, I swear it. I knew of those who were poor, those who were dispossessed. As a Queen, I could grant them succour through good works. I could persuade Henry to see them, to understand that they were as much his subjects as the velvet-clad courtiers who shared his cosseted world of comfort and largesse. Furthermore, I could rule at his side – his own Isabella – as he had never permitted Katherine to do, for he loved me _so much_ that he had turned England upon its head to make me his.

That most overt signal of my triumph was the journey to France. I travelled at his side, while Katherine was rusticated in the countryside. She tried to keep the royal jewels, of course – she never accepted that she was no longer queen – but they were eventually wrested from her to be given to me.

Even though we were still not husband and wife, I knew that it was no longer beyond our reach to become so – and it was in France that I gave myself to him. In that moment of our coupling, he laughed for joy and swore that he would give England all the sons that She desired. For She could not desire sons as greatly as he desired me. And he did. It was the first time – but it was not the last. I know that I did not conceive that night, for my courses came a week afterwards; but I was not obliged to wait for long. For fear that a child, should there be one, be born illegitimate, Henry wedded me before that same Christmastide – albeit secretly – and I rejoiced to be a wife at last.

We were obliged to wed more openly after the Christmastide feast – for by then I had conceived, and all needed to know that my son was true-born. Should I have been concerned that Henry was still married to Katherine at that time? For she was. Cranmer did not declare that marriage invalid in favour of ours until the year turned. Not that Henry cared – his greatest desire was to demonstrate to the world that I was his Queen, and that declaration paved the way for a grand coronation.

That was the first time I took up residence in these chambers – they called them ‘The Queen’s House’ then, and still do. It was expected that a prospective monarch should make their first royal journey from the Conqueror’s fortress.

I travelled from that old palace to the great Abbey Church of Westminster in an open chariot – and by that time my son was openly visible to all in the form of my domed belly. There were crowds of folk who waved at the passing procession, and I fancied that they waved to me – though now I am not so sure. If they loved me then, why do they not love me now? Perhaps it was the endless gallons of wine for them to sample, the victuals that were laid out upon trestles all along the route and the endless tableaux and allegories that attracted them; but I was content in my cloth-of-gold tinsel gown, a rich canopy over me carried by the highest ranked courtiers of England, and my husband to the fore upon a great stallion, bedecked in furniture of fine leather and gold.

When Cranmer set that magnificent crown upon my head – the Crown of St Edward himself, no less – I truly revelled in that moment. I believed that the anointing and crowning would make me the equal of Henry; after all, he loved me, and had wanted to have me at his side had he not?

He was slow to disabuse me of that notion, for I lived within a dream world of merriment and majesty within the walls of the chambers where once I had served. As I was with child, he would not come to me in the night, for he had no wish to risk the loss of the babe. Instead we contested over the primero table, or the chessboard, and even indulged in those foolish games of flirtation that had so attracted him when first he looked upon me with amorous eyes. I played the lute as he sang to me, and I sang as he played the virginals.

It did not occur to me – not for a moment – that he still desired liaisons of a carnal nature, or that he would expect me to ignore them when they occurred. I presumed – fool that I was – that his seven-year-long fight to wed me would bind him to me as he had not been bound to Katherine. God above, we argued over it: and it was then that I began to understand that my place was not as I thought it would be. I was not his Isabella – not at all. I was his brood mare.

I still lived in a silken cocoon of royalty at that time, and told myself that, once my son was born, my position would change. As the mother of the new Prince, Henry would know that I was England’s rightful Queen. Of course he would…

But my son was not born. Instead I bore a girl.

He hid the disappointment well – I give him that. He named our daughter Elizabeth, after his mother, and told me that, as I had conceived so easily, sons would follow. He cradled her in his arms and I smiled; reassured that I had not failed him – but nonetheless the grand celebrations to welcome the son that was expected were cancelled for the daughter that came in his place.

I did not wonder then what might have followed had Elizabeth been the son we had so wanted. I was overwhelmed with love for that precious child, and would have kept her at my side had that been permitted. But it was not – for Henry had seen too many babes live for but a short time, and feared the loss of another. She was sent from Court while still in her cradle, with all the pomp and ceremony required for one of the blood royal. It was a source of delight to me, however, when the misbegotten bastard of his first, invalid, marriage was sent to the same household to serve as one of her maids.

Do not expect me to speak words that are sugared, I implore you. I despised that child, I still do. She was a rival to my daughter, even bastardised, and I fear even now that she might displace Elizabeth...God help me, I fear not for my own death, but for what lies ahead for that poor child now…

Forgive me...forgive my tears; it was not my intention to interrupt our conversation so.

Henry was true to his word, and visited me again. I took pains to ensure that his ardour was not dulled, playing that old game of courtly love, dancing vivaciously with him, teasing his intellect against mine and stroking his self regard as though it were his member. For all his disappointment, he soon looked towards setting another babe in my belly, and I welcomed him into me as I had done in Calais, for that love I taught myself to express remained and I, as he did, longed for a son. Is that not the first duty of a queen, after all?

There are other duties of a queen, of course, and I undertook them willingly. I washed the feet of the poor in Holy Week, I dispensed largesse and accepted petitions to take to the King. Indeed, such was my power – still strong as it had been in those first days of his pursuit of me – that even Peers were obliged to watch in dismay as petitioners looked to me in their stead. I found it most amusing to see their disgruntled faces as I stepped above them – and even old Uncle Thomas Norfolk was forced to swallow that wormwood and gall. His attempts to chastise me were pitiful to my eyes – and I threw them back in his face. He was a Duke – but I was a Queen, and we both knew it.

Or, at least, I pretended it. I suspect Uncle Thomas knew better. And when that second babe was lost to me, I pretended all the more, for Henry still loved me. I know he did...even though he seemed not to appreciate that I was more than merely a womb. Perhaps I was foolish in my attempts to educate him otherwise.

I wanted to be more than a pretty bauble to reflect the King’s glory. Is that so wrong? How was I to know that Henry would share power with none? He loved me – he fought to win me. And yet, having won me, he would not accept me as the woman for whom he had fought so hard. God above, we argued yet more, and I heard whispers that he was talking to Cranmer and his man Cromwell to ask if I could be removed without obliging him to admit that his first marriage had been valid. Christ’s Wounds! How could he do such a thing?

I did not rage against it for long – Henry was always susceptible to flattery, after all, and I knew full well that was a great fault of his. Instead, I grovelled and abased myself: simpering and praising his handsomeness and intelligence. I danced before the Court to music I had commissioned in his honour and declared my love for him to any who would listen and – more importantly – report back to him. I had had seven years to learn how to charm his self regard, though I thought at that moment that it was merely winning him back with my love. These last weeks have taught me to know better.

It matters not now what my motives were at that time, for I succeeded in my aim, and Henry returned to me. Secure again in his love – as I saw it – I set about my other work again, seeking to create charitable institutions to spend the monies coming in from the religious houses that were being closed apace. That brought me into the ambit of Mr Cromwell. He had come over to our family’s patronage after Wolsey’s fall, and I had no argument with the man. He was nothing, really: the son of a Putney Brewer – but he had a sharp mind and the intelligence to survive in a Court as poisonous as Henry’s. I think he wished to reform England’s Government as much as he wished to reform the church – and for a time our aspirations ran in harness together.

But he was no better than the other men of the Court. Self-seeking and self-serving. He would not see that charitable institutions were required for those who had nothing. I argued with him, for he saw the creation of poor laws as the provider of succour, ever a damned lawyer. He knew, as I did, that he could never convince the council to let him do such a thing, so charitable institutions were a better course. He would not see it – would _not._ And, in so doing, spiked my temper. I even threatened to shorten him by head! I thought then that I could do it. If he did too, then he did not show it. Perhaps he knew, as I did not, that I could no more order his death than I could fly.

I still thought myself as powerful as I had been when Wolsey fell; I did not appreciate that fundamental foundation upon which all of our positions were built. Without Henry’s favour, one’s enemies begin to circle like kites over carrion. There is not a soul at Court who fell without losing Henry’s love first. For all my wilful blindness at that point, I was not blind to _that_ particular morsel.

My assurance was bolstered when I conceived again. There was still hope for me that I might grant Henry his heir – and my heart rose once more. It was then that I argued with Mr Cromwell, for my babe was my power, and I argued also with Uncle Thomas...and others...for I was carrying England’s Prince. There was, to me, only one shadow in the sun – for Katherine still lived, as did her brat. I would have given anything for them to no longer exist. Had I been able to, I would have ordered their deaths – but even in my greatest moment of hubris, I knew I could not do that.

Hubris… yes, it was hubris. My very existence by this time was founded upon Henry’s love for me. I blinded myself to the knowledge that his love was waning – and that the babe in my belly was the last anchor that bound me to the shore. To think so would be more than I could bear, so I chose not to. It was easier to flirt, to dance, to be trivial; even though there were days when my burdened heart brought out violent tempers and all fled from my rage.

I thought that I had truly won when Katherine finally departed this earth. She was no longer a presence between Henry and I, and I thought – hoped – that we would be as we had been when first we wed. A son from his loins was in my womb once again, and my star was rising. Do they not say that pride goes before a fall? Words that are wiser than any would wish, I think. We wore yellow that day; the colours of the spring to come. Though I knew, too, that yellow was the colour that Spanish Kings wore when they mourned. Was Henry marking her death, or celebrating it? I could not have said then; I could not say now; for I did not mourn her. Not then.

But her shade was not done with me. Henry went to joust upon the day they laid her mortal remains to rest. I did not go to the tiltyard: I wanted to keep the babe safe, and – if I am truly honest – I feared even to move from my chair after I had lost that other, poor child. Even I knew now that without a birth, I would face the same fate as the woman who had preceded me. There was no way for him to do it – not after all that he had done to make the marriage valid – but then, the work that had gone into making that first marriage valid had not stopped him, had it?

But then Henry was struck from his horse, and knocked senseless. God have mercy...when they came to me with those tidings...I was thrown into confusion and distress. What would become of me if he died? What would become of Elizabeth? Even I knew that not all men accepted her as his true-born child and looked instead to Katherine’s brat as the heir. Uncle Thomas had all but repudiated me in his rage at my impudence toward him. Even if he wished to make Elizabeth Queen, he would send me away without hesitation. Who would not wish to be the Lord Protector of the realm?

They came to me again to tell me that he had come round – and I thought myself safe; but the poison of my distress drew into my womb and killed the child. I miscarried him that same night.

There was no comforting me...and certainly no comfort from Henry. He did not come to me for seven days, though my women said he had not left his bed for much of that time for the pains in his head. When next I saw him, there was no forgiveness in his eyes. No suggestion that we might try again. Worse, the physicians agreed that the lost babe had all the appearance of being male. Not only had I failed to present him with a child – I had failed to present him with a son. To Henry, there was no greater crime for a wife to commit. Adultery? God no: for all his philandering, he never believed it could be possible that a wife would be unfaithful to _him_.

I knew that now I must fight to hold on to all that I had won. Katherine had tried to fight – and had gone into battle with the might of the Church and the Emperor at her back; but she had fought with honour, and in the belief that all against whom she was set cleaved to the same principles as she. I knew better. Or so I thought.

My enemies were many, and I knew as they did that their primary interest was their own gain. Even Mr High-Minded Cromwell looked to gain for himself as much as for the Kingdom, after all. If I was to win back Henry’s regard, then I knew that the men of the Council were my first enemies – and the first against whom I would be set. Thus I took steps to warn Henry of their duplicitous motives.

It was my Chaplain, John Skip, who fired that opening salvo upon my part. At my behest upon Passion Sunday, he preached a sermon that spoke of my virtue, and of the duplicity of evil councillors. Even Henry’s new interest, that little Seymour chit, was not spared, for Skip preached of Solomon, who turned away from God when he took many wives. If I had hoped to shock Henry from his foolishness, I was mistaken – for he demanded Skip’s arrest and interrogation over his words against his King.

It was during the festivities of Eastertide that Henry made his reciprocal move, and I was astounded at it; for it was the last such move that I could have expected. For all his treaties with the French, he sought to speak to Excellency Chapuys, the Emperor’s Ambassador – and a man who had always loathed me. I had presumed that Katherine’s death had prompted him to look to the Emperor for a treaty, as he had always played those two enemies against one another. Instead, he cried foul, abused the Emperor’s name and demanded that I, and Elizabeth, each be recognised as his queen and heir. Demanded it before all the Court.

I wanted to believe that I had won him back; wanted to with all my heart. Had Henry not raised up men before, only to tear them down? He would not do that to me...nay...he would not.

And then he did.

I knew nothing of the work that went into removing me from Henry’s presence. The first I knew of Henry’s final move against me was when they came to arrest me. It was only later that I discovered how it was done – and then only from rumours. Adultery...four men...including my own brother. My own brother! Could they truly stoop so low as to claim incest? Jesu, they were truly desperate to be rid of me! They did not tell me who had levelled such a calumny against him; but I knew it must be one of my women. Lisbet Somerset for choice, for her tongue was ever unguarded, even if her heart was inclined to me. I should hate her for it – but I cannot...no, I cannot.

By that time, I had so many enemies, that I cannot say with certainty which of them would have moved against me, though I know that Cromwell would have been at the heart of it – for no one could have moved as efficiently as he in the carrying forth of Henry’s will. He was never foolish enough to step outside the bounds of his King’s will – but wherever he could manoeuvre within it, he did so without hesitation.

Does he remember my threat to take his head? I should be surprised if he does not. Perhaps he sups at his table and sips that fine claret that he savours so much, smiling at the thought that he has instead taken mine.

He could not enjoy my trial, of course – for I was tried by a jury of peers, and he was not welcome in such august company. No, it was my own Uncle that presided over that jury – and he was as keen as any to be rid of me, and the scandal that was dogging his heels through our familial bonds. Perhaps Father might have fought for me, but that same scandal had sent him from court, and not a word he could have spoken would have changed the mind of a King who wanted to marry someone else. Cranmer might have come to me to take my confession, but not even he was brave enough to risk his neck for mine.

Perhaps upon the morrow’s dawn, when I step forth upon the green and make my first step to eternity, I shall know all that brought me to this place. But I know that I would not have it any different, for if that were so, then I would not have brought Elizabeth into the world, and she was the crowning achievement of my life. My daughter. My beloved child.

Think upon her, friend. Pray for her as I do, for I have no doubt that Henry shall abandon her as quickly as he abandoned Mary. All I seek is that she might live, and that she might be happy. Is that too much to ask? I do not think so. I shall watch over her from the Lord’s table, and speak for her with the highest of authorities in hopes for her future. If I cannot do so upon this earth, then I shall do so in Heaven.

Go safely, friend – live well. Upon the morrow, all my sorrows shall be past, and I shall be free to enter God’s kingdom. I thank you for your indulgence in hearing my last testament – I wish it could be longer, but time is short and it would not do for me to step forth from this place with sleep-darkened eyes. Perhaps, one day, people shall speak of me, and think of me more kindly than they do at this moment. I hope for it – as I hope for forgiveness.

Think of me upon tomorrow’s dawn, and take my gratitude with you as you go. It was most pleasant to think upon those past days again, even those that were painful for me. I shall go to my rest tonight with a lighter heart; and, tomorrow meet my end in hopes of resurrection.

_Queen Anne, formerly Boleyn; The Queen’s House, His Majesty’s Tower of London. Thursday, 18 May, 1536_

**Author's Note:**

> This does run as something of a stream of consciousness - as it would were Anne truly talking to someone, and it's certainly lacking a lot of detail; as it would had she been talking to you in such circumstances. I think it would've been a fascinating thing to actually know what Anne was thinking on that night - and we'll never truly know; so this is my take on it. I hope you've enjoyed it!
> 
> Written for Athenais_Penelope_Clemence in remembrance of happier, pre-pandemic times when we had that lovely visit to the Tower last year. With luck, perhaps a visit to Hampton Court when things improve?


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